


Pluto

by CallMeCheerios



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Spacedogs - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Spacedogs, space dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6708547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeCheerios/pseuds/CallMeCheerios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pluto...It's not a planet anymore.<br/>Nigel doesn't know when the fuck that happened, but Adam sure as shit does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pluto

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nigel is the asshole-iest of assholes. To say he's just not a good guy is putting it lightly. He likes to swear and say (and do) terrible, awful things--this fic is rated T because of the language. So while I don't support his views or use of derogatory and ableist language, I felt it was true to character for this fic.
> 
> In truth I go back and forth on how I see Nigel. He's really not as swear-y in the movie as he's written in a lot of fics, this one included. He mostly reserves he profanity-laden tirades for when he's particularly upset, but I really love writing angry, profane characters, so here we are.

“Eight.” The word came from behind him, spoken in a voice that was quiet and bore a hint of distraction but rang with the kind of certainty people rarely doubted.

“What?” It was an ineloquent reply, but Nigel didn’t give a fuck. He had been on the phone, the cell still smashed precariously between his left ear and shoulder. He was still hunting for a pen and a piece of paper as the guy on the other end read out a series of numbers. Nigel found himself mumbling the numbers back for confirmation while he searched. So far all he’d managed to find was a Sharpie. He was considering the smooth, flat, perfectly adequate rose festooned wallpaper that marred the north facing wall of his flat as a substitute for a steno pad when a car backfiring cut through the conversation obscuring the last digit. Apparently the shithead on the other end of the line thought he was too good to repeat himself and took Nigel for some kind of fucking idiot. 

_“I said nine, like the number of planets.” That douchebag had the nerve to be smug. He sounded like one ugly fucker, and Nigel was already fed up with the sound of his voice._

_“More like start of 9-1-1, a number you'll get quickly acquainted with if you don't cut the fucking attitude. Nine like the number of planets,” Nigel mocked. “Who the fuck says shit like that?”_

At Adam’s interruption Nigel had turned on the spot, phone conversation momentarily forgotten, to stare at the man sitting on his pathetic excuse for a couch. It was an ugly thing, found out on the sidewalk, threadbare and not without an appalling number of stains and cigarette burns. At one point it was probably a nice couch, something someone spent careful minutes, maybe even hours, considering before purchasing. Today it was bordering on being a health hazard. It should have stayed on the curb where it was unceremoniously deposited to await its fate in the landfill. Instead Nigel and some punk kid he paid ten bucks had hauled the monstrosity upstairs to his squalid apartment. Nigel wasn’t sure what color it had been before being reincarnated as the sickly pale pink lump that dominated his tiny, all around dingy studio. The building and the surrounding area was largely in disrepair, neglected and slowly succumbing to decay. It was the perfect place to lay low and go unnoticed. But sure as shit wasn’t easy on the eyes or good for morale. Nigel suspected that the only beautiful thing in the whole damn neighborhood was Adam. And when he went home for the night, it would all look that much bleaker.

At times Nigel felt guilty for exposing Adam to such filth, but the younger man didn’t seem to mind. His understanding of social etiquette, while limited at times, prevented him from commenting or complaining too much. It was rare that Adam visited Nigel’s place to begin with, preferring to hang out in his own home, but Nigel still felt Adam deserved better. Hell, he had better. His own house was large and bright, albeit sparsely furnished, in a safe and sunny neighborhood. It was the kind of place where people probably left their doors unlocked at night and knew the names of all their neighbors. Adam was happy there, among his books and other things. He was safe and calm and not in danger of catching whatever sort of plague could lay dormant in a couch and be passed on to humans. Nigel, himself, didn’t mind so much. He’d had better, sure. But he’d also had way worse. Right now he had a roof over his head, a place to call home. It wasn’t glamorous or particularly hygienic, but it was something. It was more than he’d expected to find when he'd hopped on a redeye and left Romania and his old life behind him. Here he could make ends meet just fine, although he wished he could spoil Adam like the kid deserved. But until things picked up, until he found better roots and better connections in the city, he was just thankful he didn’t have to resort to eating from dented, unmarked cans bought on discount. There was only so much dog food a man could stand to eat in one lifetime. 

“Eight. There are eight planets in the solar system.” It was straightforward, matter of fact just like most everything else that tumbled out of Adam’s mouth. “The four inner solar system planets fall under the category of terrestrial planets, then there are two gas giants, and two ice giants. That’s eight.”

“The fuck there are...no not you, you faggot. We’ll finish this later.” Nigel slammed the flip phone shut and tossed it towards the bare mattress that sat on the floor in the corner. It landed in the heap of blankets at one end and would be a bitch to find later, he was sure. But right now he had more important things to deal with than some moronic fuckwit who couldn’t be assed to do a single goddamn thing right or trying to find his motherfucking cell phone. The thing was a menace anyway--he preferred the days when he could only be found when he wanted to be. Now he was always accessible, and it fucking sucked. 

_“There used to be nine. But in 2003 an astronomer discovered a new object past Pluto and assumed it was a new planet…”_ Adam didn't seem to notice Nigel’s interjection or the aborted phone call. He’d clearly given up reading what looked suspiciously like a textbook in favor of talking about space. That he wasn’t even looking at Nigel, the only other person in the admittedly small room, but was instead focusing his lecture at the dessicated remains of the houseplant that the former tenant had left behind wasn’t unusual. _“...the object was name Eris and sparked a debate on how we define what a planet is. So in 2006 the International Astronomical Union voted on their first official definition of the word planet…”_

Nigel didn't seem to notice Adam not noticing. Nigel was busy trying to name all the planets. He had three fingers out stretched, gently tapping the pad of each with the pointer finger of his right hand. He got as far as Earth, Mars, and Pluto, but couldn't for the life of him remember the rest. There was the one with the rings, and he was like 80% sure the moon didn’t count. He wasn't as sure about the sun, and it was fucking infuriating. He wasn't a stupid man. He wasn’t the smartest either, he knew that. He may not have had much schooling, choosing instead to drop out and get a less formal education on the streets, but that didn’t make him dumb. It made him resourceful. He was quick on his feet and knew what he needed to know to get by from day to day. He was fucking brilliant about certain things, illegal things mostly. This kind of stuff though--fancy science and math shit--was a whole other thing. The names of the planets didn't come up very often in his line of work.

_“...a planet is a celestial body that meets three criteria. One, it orbits around the Sun. Two, it has sufficient mass for its self-gravity to overcome rigid body forces so that it assumes a hydrostatic equilibrium shape. And three, it has cleared the neighborhood around its orbit…”_

“Fuck!” Nigel was about to give up. Or beat the shit out of something. Hitting things wouldn't make up for the fact that he felt like a fucking retard. But it had solved a fair number of his problems in the past. It usually created more in the process, but instant gratification was one of Nigel’s vices. He settled for kicking the coffee table. It wouldn't try to hit him back and violence was cheaper than cigarettes and vodka. Adam abhorred all three of those things of course. But he usually let Nigel be Nigel. It was a rarity that Nigel got to indulge these days. He still relished a glass of something strong after a long day, but it was more rewarding to fill his spare hours with Adam’s company than to drink himself stupid. They usually spent evenings at Adam’s: it was less disruptive to the other man’s strict routine. Adam refused to let Nigel smoke anywhere near his house, and he tried hard not to count the minutes until his next nicotine fix. Of course the muscle memory ingrained by decades of smoking was slow to fade. Far too often his hands felt awkward, like they should be doing something, holding something, rather than sitting idle. That was the biggest reminder of the joys of smoking. But not listening to Adam complain about the smoke and the smell was usually an adequate deterrent. And if Adam didn't gripe about the smell of smoke on Nigel’s clothes, Nigel wouldn't bug him about eating nothing but cereal and mac and cheese. Nigel was kind of a slob and apparently a poorly educated one at that, but even he could see the need for Adam to push himself from time to time. 

_“...it was decided that because of Pluto’s size and location in space, it’s part of the Kuiper Belt, it doesn’t fulfill the third criteria…”_

The sound of his shoe connecting with the table leg was satisfying. But the table itself barely budged. Instead it sat just slightly askew asking haughtily if that's the best Nigel could do. Nigel wondered briefly if there was an axe handy. He glanced about the room and nearly forgot about the table completely when he looked back at Adam. The man in question was sitting on the couch, eyes wide, mouth slightly open as if he’d stopped mid-sentence, watching Nigel. Adam clearly didn't get why Nigel was so frustrated. But at least he knew enough not to be afraid of Nigel and his outbursts, which was a good thing. It had taken some doing to say the least. Nigel was an angry man in many regards. Anger was an emotion he understood better than most of the rest. It was easy and honest to come by and just as easy to diffuse. It was even easier to hide behind. He understood that. Everyone in the neighborhood he grew up in and everyone in the circles he associated with understood that. But Adam didn’t.

They say actions speak louder than words. But in Adam’s case neither did a whole lot of good. He would always need time to process, assess, formulate, evaluate, extrapolate, or whatever the fuck went on in his head. Anger wasn’t quantifiable. Rashness wasn’t calculable. It was confusing for Adam, scary even. Coupled with the newness of his and Nigel’s friendship, it had often been too much in those early days. The learning curve had been steep for Nigel as well. He'd always loved with reckless abandon. It was all-consuming and inescapable and no better than a powder keg ready explode. It bordered on obsession, which was probably why his relationships never ended well. That and the shady business of being a less than blue collar career criminal meant that trust didn’t come easily, even in regards to someone as unguarded and straightforward as Adam. Adam’s complexities didn’t lay in masked emotions and withheld truths, and his bluntness had been alarming. Nigel was too used to hemming and hawing, people creating elaborate mistruths to manipulate those around them. Taking Adam at face value had been a complete re-education in how people could be, double so when he realized that Adam was different in so many ways. 

However it didn’t take all that long for Nigel to also realize he'd never really be able to understand how Adam worked. And vice versa. They would always be strangers to some degree. But Adam at least was predictable. And Nigel was getting there. With Adam’s help his life had evened out, taken on some sense of normalcy and dropped a good deal of its previous drama. He still wasn’t in the running for citizen of the year, but in his opinion he was no worse than the crooks who called themselves politicians and shit all over the rest of society. He was honest in his misdeeds. Life was hard enough without strict morals: there was no room for shame in his line of work. Then again this little outburst wasn’t helping. 

“Sorry.” Nigel apologized, eyes directed towards the table. He felt a flutter of embarrassment as he looked back at Adam. Those big blue eyes watched him for just a second, fixed somewhere around Nigel’s collarbones.

“Pluto.” Two syllables, easily recognizable, but Nigel didn’t have a clue what they were supposed to mean. And for once Adam didn't seem forthcoming with an explanation.

“What about Pluto?” It was harsher than Nigel had meant to sound. Adam diverted his gaze, staring at the thick, hard bound book sitting primly in his lap. 

“It's not a planet. It used to be, but it's not now. It’s a dwarf planet like Eris and Makemake. That's probably why you think there are nine.”

“What? When the fuck did that happen? Who the fuck decided it wasn't a fucking planet anymore? Fucking bureaucrats. Fucking glasses wearing science fucks.”

Adam sighed and shifted slightly. He’d known Nigel long enough to recognize the start of an enthusiastic, profanity laden, and exceptionally unhelpful rant. Nigel was infamous for them. Nigel was also entirely capable of recognizing his own flaws and beating the ever loving fuck out of anyone who took exception to them. Adam seemed to accept them just fine in his own way. He rarely complained. Instead he would sigh quietly and return to whatever he'd been doing before. In this instance he just opened his book and presumably picked up where he left off. And he wouldn't pay any more attention to Nigel’s rant than Nigel gave to most of his explanations. 

Nigel didn’t mind listening to Adam talk. He was impossibly smart and could talk for days if left to do so. That was part of the problem. Nigel could never find a way to quiet one of Adam’s impromptu lectures without feeling like crotchety, insensitive asshole. And he rarely understood more than a small fraction of what was said. So he let Adam talk and usually allowed his own mind to wander. It was quite possibly the shittiest thing he could do to Adam, and somehow he hadn't realized that until now. 

That boy was a fucking saint. He put up with more than his share of Nigel’s bullshit, seemed to like him despite his past, and never wavered when Nigel lost his patience and just steamrolled over one of his explanations. Adam lived to share his love of space and math and science and whatever else had enthralled that big brain of his. A captive audience made his fucking week, gave him a way to contribute to the world. He might not be adept at emotions, but to Adam sharing information like this was more meaningful than telling Nigel about his day. It was his way of connecting: it was his own way of letting Nigel in.

“Fuck.” Nigel was an inconsiderate prick. That much was for sure. He ran his hands through his hair, stalked the few paces to the couch, and collapsed unceremoniously next to Adam. He looped and arm around the other man’s shoulders and pulled Adam into his side, dropping a kiss and a muffled apology to the top of his head before Adam could squirm away. 

Once Adam righted himself, back straight and feet firmly planted on the floor in complete contrast to Nigel’s long limbed and ungainly sprawl, Nigel couldn't help but smile. 

“Alright start from the beginning.”

Adam closed his book cautiously and furrowed his brow in concentration as he started reciting everything he knew about Pluto. Nigel still didn't understand why Pluto couldn't have stayed a planet. A demotion just seemed mean spirited. But maybe it is like Adam pointed out.

_“Pluto doesn’t care. It can’t. It's not a sentient being. But it's nice that you care.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Space Dogs fic. I definitely ship Adam and Nigel as a couple but this fic can be read as platonic or perhaps even pre-slash. In my mind they aren't really a couple but could definitely become one in the not too distant future.


End file.
